


The Narrow Road

by ActualHurry



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Domestic if you're into Fucky Domestic, Identity Porn, M/M, Porn With Plot, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-15 04:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18066482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActualHurry/pseuds/ActualHurry
Summary: Once, the Drifter ran a bar in the shadow of Felwinter's Peak. Once, Shin Malphur ended his tireless hunt to bring justice to Dredgen Yor.This is the unification of both events.(Contains spoilers for ALL lore released with Season of the Drifter.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the sake of this fic, we’re pretending that this timeline (https://www.reddit.com/r/DestinyTheGame/comments/ayg0pl/destiny_timeline_update_for_season_of_the_drifter/) gets smooshed suuuper hard and that Drifter still owns the bar in the time after Shin kills Yor. This obviously breaks a LOT of events, before and after. But luckily for my laziness, I am not dealing with many events, I am dealing with a character-exploration heavy AU.
> 
> So please don't think too hard about the timeline. I didn't either.

“You look like you’ve seen hell, brother,” the man said on his approach.

Shin’s cloak hid his eyes from view, but his silence bought a few seconds. Eventually, the man leaned down low to peek up under Shin’s hood, waving a hand back and forth in front of his face once, twice, three times. “Hey, you good?” he went on. “Maybe you drank too much…or not enough. Ha.”

Shin exhaled, the grip on his lone glass tightening. “Fine. Thanks.”

The man looked at him thoughtfully, but before he could press his luck there came a call from across the half-full bar, some employee shouting, “Wu Ming! Somebody’s askin’ after the owner –”

Shin watched the man’s hands – Wu Ming’s hands – flex where they rested on the counter, and then he was spinning on his heel and walking off with a, “Yeah, what can I do you for?”

It wasn’t a bad stop by any means, this little respite at the bottom of a cold, unforgiving mountain. Felwinter’s mountain, at that. Shin wasn’t interested in getting involved with the chaos that remained there, the light power struggle between Iron Lords and Vanguard. He’d fought his war and come out the other side. From hot, angry desert winds to a duel where he’d sent forth a reckoning in a blaze of fire, Shin’s journey was over. He’d won.

Seeking out this bar in nowhere, all Shin wanted was to enjoy this end to his hunt. He should have felt celebration, joy, but instead something trembling remained between his ribs.

He simmered over his remaining drink. He could smell ash on his cloak, and that was enough for him to unclasp the thing and toss it over the back of his stool. Whether it was Palamon’s smoke or Yor’s remains, it didn’t matter. He just wanted a moment, just a moment to breathe.

“Still fine, I take it?” Wu Ming asked him suddenly, standing off to the side while he cleaned a glass.

Shin stalled out, this time without a hood to hide from his line of questioning. He carefully, slowly unclasped the fists his hands had balled up into. He dropped the tight hold of his shoulders. He forced his body out of its tension.

“Fine,” he repeated.

Wu Ming hummed.

Shin stared at him for a long moment, watched the circling rhythm of that towel wiping through the glass, around it.

“Actually,” Shin said, “you know ‘bout any work around here?”  

Wu Ming smiled for the first time that night. “Matter of fact, I just might.”

 

Shin hadn’t wanted to get involved in the matters of Lords – Iron, War, and otherwise – but some things demanded a listening ear. Wu Ming didn’t run too tight a ship, but it was something of a safe haven for both Lightless and Light-touched, seeing as it sat right beneath the shadow of Felwinter’s Peak. Safe as it got inside an Iron Lord’s territory, anyway.

“So you need a…” Shin trailed off, frowning.

“A bouncer.” Wu Ming crossed his arms over his chest.

They were sitting at a table by themselves, the empty bar a reminder that it was late enough for even Wu Ming’s most dedicated patrons to disappear. Wu Ming appeared to be carefully weighing his options here, not totally willing to give away what, exactly, a ‘bouncer’ would be doing. Shin was getting more concerned by the moment.

“What’s the pay?” he asked first.

“A lot.”

“Can we talk numbers?”

Wu Ming sighed, then dug around in a satchel at his waist before he hoisted up two big fistfuls of sparkling Glimmer. Shin’s eyes went wider than the moon.

“Don’t got an exact number, see,” said Wu Ming, almost rueful about it.

Shin looked around the humble surroundings, the worn surfaces and the old dust in the corners. Snow had blown in around the door, leaving the mat there sopping. Even the lights flickered every so often, betraying the shoddy power.

Then he looked at the Glimmer.

“Why?” he said, disbelieving.

“Good pay means you stick around to actually do your job.” Wu Ming tucked the Glimmer away again, but he kept a palmful of it to push across the table, towards Shin. “And, ah. I don’t got much use for it.”

Alright, lie number one. Nobody had money like that in a place like this without a use for it, except…except maybe if they weren’t in need of basic necessities.

Shin bit his tongue between his teeth. “So what’s my job, then – ‘bouncing’?”

Wu Ming sputtered a surprised laugh, catching himself a little too late. “Don’t sound so scared, brother! Think of it as, uh...bodyguarding, but for a place.”

Shin relaxed a little now that _that_ was cleared up, but he stayed skeptical. “Places don’t need protecting.”

“This place might,” muttered Wu Ming.

“Am I protecting the place,” Shin said, “or the people in it?”

“Ah.” Those eyes of his gleamed from the spotty light above. “There’s the question, eh? You still interested if it’s the people I care more about than any wood finish?”

Shin glanced at the finish, noting its well-used look. “Something tells me you wouldn’t be giving me the job if I wasn’t putting the people first.”

“Mm. Sharp.” Wu Ming propped his cheek in his hand, elbow against the table. “So, what’s the verdict? Can I beg a little care from you, Lightbearer?”

The fact that some would say no was an unfortunate fact of reality. An even more bitter pill to swallow was the _amount_ of some who would say no. Shin could think of many he’d run into during his long pilgrimage that would’ve sold the people inside this place for Glimmer and spent it on ammo. Too many.

Shin settled into his seat, expectant now. Maybe the empathy came with the territory, the _I-was-you-once_.

“What d’you need from me?” he asked.

Wu Ming did a real good job of keeping it off his face, real, real good. But Shin still saw the flash of surprise, the widened eyes and parted lips like a question was a split second from coming out. But he hid it fast. Only reason Shin even noticed was because of the amount of attention he was paying the guy.

“Well,” Wu Ming said, picking his words, “Sometimes this place gets rowdy.”

Shin wondered what this man would do if he said no. He wondered why he’d build a bar at the foot of Felwinter’s Peak if he wasn’t ready for ‘rowdy.’ He wondered what sort of crazy a Lightless fella had to be to put himself in a place like this.

“I’m good with rowdy,” Shin said. He held a hand out to shake. “Name’s Orsa.”

Wu Ming smiled. Took his hand and shook it, firm. Poured two glasses from a fresh bottle, slid one over to Shin, kept one for himself.

“I’ll drink to that, Orsa,” he said.

Shin could’ve sworn he felt some spark of Light buzz alive between their fingertips when their hands touched, but their glasses clinked and Shin downed it all the same.

 

Two days later, Shin dealt with a belligerent patron. He tried asking first. The man argued, words slurring and balance unsteady. Shin explained he was disturbing the rest of the people here, scaring them with his shouted words of doom and gloom and apocalyptic ends. He could come back later, when he wasn’t so far gone, Shin said.

The man dumped his drink over Shin’s head.

“Whoa, whoa!” Wu Ming interrupted, jumping over the counter. He walked over, handing the towel draped around his arm to Shin, but he looked only at the man. “What was that for?”

“He doesn’t understand!” wailed the man. “They are _blind_ , they can’t see what suffering they’ve wrought!”

Wu Ming took the man to the back room, door shutting behind them. Shin stood there a moment longer, at the mercy of every other patrons’ watchful judgment. The drink dripped down his nose, off his hair. He ran his tongue over his lips, tasting whiskey.

Shin wiped himself off with the towel and returned to his spot in that corner that he’d taken to frequenting. He only noticed the oppressive silence that’d long been hanging over the bar when scattered conversations finally started up again, albeit much more quietly.  

“Oh, him? He just needed someone to listen to him a while,” Wu Ming told him later, while the bar was empty and Shin was asking about it. “Lotta people ‘round here – they don’t like Risen.” He looked sidelong at Shin. “Risen ain’t done much but cause problems for us.”

‘Us.’ There was the lying again. _Where is your Ghost, how dim is your Light?_ Shin wanted to ask, ferociously curious about a man who didn’t even care to try at honesty with him.

“Why should anyone like Risen?” Shin said, piecing off his armor so he could clean the whiskey from it. “What have Risen done for anyone but sweep up the ashes of things they burned first?”

Wu Ming was quiet then. It took Shin looking up at him to make him shake off whatever unreadable expression he had on, to make him replace it with something a little appeased, almost.

“Interestin’ take,” Wu Ming said, but he sounded pleased.

He threw a pouch at Shin. Shin opened it up, saw all the Glimmer inside.

“Consider it a bonus,” Wu Ming told him. “Tonight wasn’t what I meant when I said it gets rowdy.”

 

It took a couple weeks, but a fight broke out. They weren’t Warlords, they weren’t Iron Lords, but they were Risen, and Shin was watching them before they ever went at each other’s throats.

“Take it outside,” Shin snapped, his gun drawn as deterrence. It kept them from arguing with him.

He could feel Wu Ming’s eyes on him as he followed them out.

Snow was falling, steady but slow. The cold wasn’t a concern at all for Risen, especially not for someone chosen for the sun, but Shin watched his breath waft out in front of him in a pretty cloud. Above, the mountain loomed.

One of the two – a lithe, angry looking woman, shreds of a scarf around her neck – glared at him. “We didn’t break no rules, weren’t going for nobody else –”

“Collateral damage,” Shin said, flat.

He walked a small distance away from the bar, far enough from where it’d been packed in by roving feet. He dug his boot into the snow, then paced a number of steps in a line, dug his boot in again.

Now, the second one – a strong man, his armor bulky and blue, scavenged – asked, “What’re you doing?”

“Settling this for you.” Shin looked at them both, gestured at either spot he’d made. “Either of you wanna apologize, make amends for whatever argument started all this, I’d do it now.”

Neither said a thing.

“Alright,” Shin said. “Pick your place. Stand there. You both got hand cannons on you? Ask your Ghosts. Let me see them.”

Inside the bar, Wu Ming would’ve heard some round of shots go off, one starting up the tiniest bit faster than the other. Shin came back in moments later, snow dusting his shoulders and hood.

“You shoot ‘em?” Wu Ming said, curious. He slid a cup of hot chocolate over to Shin.

“No.” Shin looked at the drink, then sniffed it and blinked, gaze clearing of concern. He sipped at it, then nodded his thanks at Wu Ming. “They shot each other.”

“Huh.” Wu Ming stared at him. “Who won?”

Shin shrugged. “Doesn’t matter when the loser comes right back up again. I like this drink. Could you spike it?”

That night they drank their spiked hot chocolate together. By now, Shin was hungry for Wu Ming’s attention, his questions. Wu Ming asked his opinion of Iron Lords, of Warlords. Shin gladly offered his thoughts, his feelings. Wu Ming asked, _What even brought you here?_ Shin said, _You first._ Wu Ming laughed, delighted at the counter, but didn’t give an answer in turn.

He asked where Orsa woke up. Shin faltered a second.

“You know Palamon?”

Shin saw Wu Ming cringe and felt it like his own reaction.

“That was…home, to me,” he managed to go on, fumbling, but if Shin’s strange choice of words was an oddity to Wu Ming, it didn’t show.

Wu Ming only stared at him like he hadn’t quite ever seen something like him before.

After that things fell quiet, treading a line too close to comfortable. Shin finished his drink first. Got up to go.

“Orsa.”

Shin stopped.

“Would you like to dance before you go?” Wu Ming asked.

“I –” Struck dumb, Shin could only stare. “What?”

Wu Ming raised his brows at him. “What’d you think I said?”

“...Would you like to dance?” Shin echoed.

“Think I would,” Wu Ming said, standing up.

He was smiling like something was funny, like this was the most hilarious joke in the world, taking Shin’s hand and placing it for him.

Shin let him move him. The awful Golden Age music playing made for a terrible rhythm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes:  
> \- I have no idea how long this will be  
> \- The rating will almost DEFINITELY go up, because it is me, Dredgen Horny, at the wheel  
> \- This is an experiment in writing style as much as it is just high-pitched harpy screeches about ShinDrif history.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ups the fic rating real quick-*

Shin did eventually meet one of the famed Lords – a Lady, in this case. Efrideet was a spitfire Risen, sharp-tongued and no nonsense when it came right down to it. She approached Shin while he sat at his perch in the corner. It was the first time anyone had dared linger near him in the bar. Most kept their distance, recognizing his status as an enforcer here.

Efrideet put herself right in front of him.

“What’s your deal?” she asked, dragging up a stool.

Shin looked over her armor, the plume of it, the metalwork. She’d been in here a couple times before. Hard to miss her. “What deal?” he replied.

“You. Yours. You just sit here, watching?”

Shin jerked his head towards Wu Ming, who was standing behind the bar, mixing a drink. “He pays me.”

Efrideet’s amused breath came out of her like she’d been punched. “Enough to sit here, hours on end?”  

“More than enough.”

She stared at Shin until his lips twitched, turning up slightly at the corners. Then she rubbed her hands together, considering.

“You get bored?” she asked suddenly.

Shin thought of how often he ended up passing the time by talking to Wu Ming about anything, except for the things that had to be lied about.

“No,” he said, honest.

Efrideet seemed like she was about to grill him further, but then three more Risen walked in. They were obvious about it, too – pushed right past the little frame that greeted each person to come in and had their chins up high. Shin stood up slowly enough that no one looked at him as a threat. Efrideet did the same.

From here, the three newcomers looked like imposing figures. Or would’ve, if Shin hadn’t already faced down his worst nightmare.

There was a discussion, a 'conversation'. But the Risen in the middle made a mistake: he grabbed Wu Ming by his lapels.

When everything settled down, Shin blew smoke from his cannon and Efrideet cooled her Solar knife in her hand, having ripped it out of one Warlord’s head with a nasty sound. The Ghosts stayed still, all three of their eyes comically wide, until Efrideet sent them out into the cold.

“You’re fast,” Efrideet told Shin, appreciative. “I thought I was quick on the draw, but that was impressive. You had two down before I got my knife out.”

Shin holstered his gun. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“I’ll say,” Efrideet laughed. “Listen. You want to come up to the mountain sometime, I think Felwinter might like to meet you. Not that he’d say so, but trust me.”

“Sure.”

She clasped Shin’s hand gratefully in her own – “Let’s fight together again, sometime!” – and waved a farewell at Wu Ming – “Keep him, he’s good,” – before she headed out, all three bodies in her arms. The couple remaining patrons quickly filed out the door after her, obviously unwilling to stick around after the violence. That was all well and good; someone needed to clean up the mess, not that most would mind it.

Shin turned to Wu Ming, feeling his eyes on his back.

“She’s right,” Wu Ming said then. He squinted at Shin. “You _are_ good.”

“You pay me to be good,” Shin said, scuffing at a smear of blood on the floor with his boot.

“Before you showed up, I figured I’d just pay _her_ to be here for that mess.” Wu Ming picked up a bottle. “Think you might be worth the money, though.”

Shin watched him pour a drink. “What do I need to do to convince you?”

He said it like throwing a fishing line into churning water. Wu Ming looked at him like he knew it, too. He drank half of the glass he’d poured. Then he pushed it to Shin.

“Ooh, don’t ask me that,” Wu Ming sighed.

Shin drank the rest and got a good idea of what his mouth would taste like.

 

After every one of his shifts, Shin started joining Wu Ming in the back room of the bar to chat. At first, it was about news – _you hear about the Vanguard?_ – and then it became something more than that. It became sharing drinks and sharing thoughts. It became swapping lies. Wu Ming was a Lightless man who’d started this bar a little over a month ago because he liked gossip. Shin knew one of those details was a lie, but wasn’t going to call him on it. He had his fair share of lies, too.

“So, Palamon, huh,” Wu Ming said once, between one glass and another.

Shin’s face shuttered. Wu Ming saw the reaction, held his hands up and went on, “Whoa, whoa. Hey, I get it. Sensitive topic. Home and all. Only bring it up ‘cause I got somethin’ to ask of you.”

Shin slowly came down from his tension. He looked Wu Ming over, took in that openness to his face, saw his shaking hands. He looked away.

“Shoot,” Shin said, boot tapping restlessly on the floor.

Wu Ming told him a story of a town once called Eaton.

By the end of it, it was a miracle Shin had managed to keep himself still. His feet yearned to go, his hands ached for the weight of Jaren’s gun, and his mind wandered far and fast. His stomach twisted when he thought of what Wu Ming might be about to ask him, yet his heart –

His heart soared.

“What do you want from me?” he asked.

“You’re good,” Wu Ming said, a repeat of his words before, and Efrideet’s even before that. “Think you could hunt ‘em down, if you wanted. Think you care enough to.”

Up ‘til now, Shin had his eyes on the forgotten drink in his hands, the amber liquid swirling around inside. Finally, he raised his gaze again to fix his attention on Wu Ming.

“Why do _you_ care?” he asked, pinning him with the words.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

They stared at each other for a long, long time. Shin’s skin crawled. He set his drink down and sat up straight in his chair again.

“You’re a Risen, that’s why,” Shin said.

Wu Ming smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. He laced his fingers together, then asked, “What’s that make the both of us?”

“Idiots,” Shin said. Wu Ming laughed. “Why do you pretend?”

Wu Ming clicked his tongue against his teeth, settling into his seat like he wasn’t comfortable anymore. “You should know,” he said, sidestepping the question, “that if you go after Dryden, he’s gonna try to kill you. _Kill_ -kill you.”

“That’s fine.”

“Is it?”

“He can try what he wants. He’ll still end up dead.”

Wu Ming blinked. “You’re okay with that, then?”

Shin set his drink down. He didn’t really want it anymore, and besides – his pulse was racing, everything in sharp focus. “This isn’t my first hunt.”

Wu Ming was already watching him when Shin looked to meet his eyes.

“Orsa,” said Wu Ming.

Shin shook his head once.

“Huh.” Wu Ming ran his thumb across his lower lip, raking his gaze up and down him as Shin stood up to leave. “Alright, then.”

 

Shin was expected back in two weeks.

It took him two days.

Shin let Dryden know what he was going to die for, told him that some people hadn’t forgotten Eaton. Maybe Dryden had, in the wake of all the suffering he’d caused, the countless deaths and many ends. But there was someone out there who still wore the memory of those people on their sleeve. Shin let the anger at what happened to Eaton, to Palamon, fuel the fire. Dryden died fast, turned to cinders in the wind, and his Ghost followed.

In the end, watching the sunrise on his way back to the bar, Shin felt alive.

 

“Welcome to the End of the World,” said the frame, welcoming Shin on his way into the bar.

Shin tipped his head at it in greeting, pulling his hood down from his head. He stomped his boots off at the door, the mat almost clean for such a snowy day. Must not have been that busy earlier; made sense, considering that the building was empty right now.

The noise drew Wu Ming out from the back. He grinned when he saw Shin, then paused. “You’re back early.”

Shin undid his cloak, shaking it out. He draped it over his arm. “It’s done.”

Wu Ming got him a glass and poured it full.

The clouds were still heavy with snow. Almost no sunlight broke through the sky, leaving the inside of the bar dim, save for the unreliable lamps. As Shin sat down on a stool, Wu Ming stood behind the bar, leaned over onto his elbows.

Shin already knew Wu Ming wasn’t going to ask how it went. He didn’t want details, he’d only wanted revenge, justice – sometimes they were one and the same. And Shin had given him that.

It was a solid reminder of his purpose.

“You still wanna keep workin’ for me?” Wu Ming asked before the silence went from contemplative to bothersome.

“Yeah.” Shin finished half his drink, then pushed it over to Wu Ming. “Why, you got a hit list?”

Wu Ming coughed to hide his laugh. Shin watched him keep his smile behind the rim of the glass.

“Orsa,” Wu Ming said. There was a small uptick to his lips. Poking fun at their inside joke, the lie that was that name. “Think we got a good thing goin’. Stay with me awhile.”

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Shin asked.

Wu Ming inhaled, sharp. “Bold.”

“Tell me no. I won’t ask again.”

Wu Ming’s eyes were dark as they met Shin’s. “Did it sound like I said no?”

Shin left his cloak on the counter and stood up to go flip the sign on the door to the side that said ‘Sorry! We’re closed’. Wu Ming leaned against the door to the back room, tracking Shin’s every little move. The promise in that look was more intoxicating than any of the drinks Shin had ever had here.

There was a small, easy to miss stairway in the back room. Wu Ming led him up, until they reached a tiny room, hardly more than an attic. There was a pallet on the floor; not much of a mattress, but it’d do. A few things littered their character around the room, books and parts and clothes that Shin recognized from having seen Wu Ming wear them before. A lamp hung from the ceiling. Wu Ming flipped it on.

Shin caught his wrist. Pulled him closer.

“You gonna give me your name, so I can make good use of it?” Wu Ming asked, hardly more than a breath away.

“Nice try,” Shin said.

He kissed Wu Ming firmly at first, to get a feel for him, and then gently, as those lips parted against his and Shin was given a chance to take his time, explore his mouth, lick between his teeth. They fell onto the pallet eagerly, Shin’s roaming hands seeking out bare skin, starved for the feeling.

It’d been a long time since he’d been touched, and as Wu Ming’s fingers pried beneath armor, beneath clothes, Shin jolted with it. His hands were warm where they cupped Shin’s face, a comfort beyond measure. Shin sought out more, climbed on top of him, half-naked.

Wu Ming played his spine like an instrument, danced a light touch all the way down his body. Shin shivered.

“How you wanna do this, hotshot?” asked Wu Ming, quiet in their small bubble of space.

Shin looked down at him, desperately drank in the way Wu Ming looked back at him. “You got –” Wu Ming was already dropping a small bottle into his lap, hands coming to rest at Shin’s hips, rubbing little circles into his waist. “Thanks,” Shin finished, popping the bottle open.

The rest of their clothes came off in a frenzy, eager now that they’d both gotten a taste. Shin seemed to surprise Wu Ming when he wet his own fingers and then pressed them into himself. Wu Ming exhaled what was almost a laugh, kissed him until Shin made a sound into it, eased Shin’s fingers away to replace them with his own.

One finger and he teased, two fingers and he made Shin arch. Wu Ming coaxed each little unwilling noise out of Shin, and those eyes staring into him, dark and hungry, brought Shin’s breath up short.

As good as his fingers were, it was nothing compared to the stretch that came afterwards. They shifted, moved together, and Shin sank down onto him, both hands braced onto Wu Ming’s shoulders, holding tight.

“Careful,” Wu Ming managed, a warning for Shin’s tight grip on his shoulders. _Relax_ , said the caution.

Shin listened. He smoothed his hands out on him. “I’m – good. I’m good.” His lungs lacked the air to say more.

Wu Ming grinned up at him. Dizzied, Shin thought of those teeth digging into him. “Then move. It’s all on you.”

Shin moved. Slow, then as the need flared up in his stomach again, faster. Wu Ming touched him like he was drowning and could only hang on, little swears slipping out between his teeth again and again and Shin couldn’t take it anymore – he leaned down and kissed him hard while Wu Ming fucked up into him.

Wu Ming got a hand on Shin then, stroked him in time with the rest. Shin moaned long and low into his mouth, held onto Wu Ming like that was all that kept him from falling apart. Heat built up, higher and higher, and reached a boiling point all at once; Shin came with shivers that made his breath skip out of him, Wu Ming following not more than a few seconds later.

Shin slumped, elbows on either side of Wu Ming’s head. They both panted into each other’s mouth, playing catch up with their oxygen. Finally, Shin pulled away and fell to the side, laying down next to Wu Ming.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Wu Ming said, voice raspy. Shin liked it that way. Then, Wu Ming turned his head to eye him. “I wasn’t plannin’ to keep the bar.”

Shin blinked, slow. His brain was still lethargic, body craving closeness. He compromised and pressed himself up against Wu Ming to give himself time to think about little admission, rewarded by their legs tangling together. “Bartending not goin’ anywhere for you?”

“I was tryin’ for Felwinter’s attention,” Wu Ming confessed. “Got yours instead.”

“You didn’t really want a bouncer. You wanted someone who wouldn’t mind breaking the Iron Decree.”

Wu Ming hummed agreement.

Shin studied his profile for a long time. He wanted to ask, _why couldn’t you have done it yourself?_ But Wu Ming enjoyed playing his mortal game, and maybe he hadn’t wanted to risk a final death. So he’d paid someone to go risk it for him. Shin didn’t feel used, though.

He felt grateful.

“I like the bar,” Shin said.

Wu Ming patted his shoulder. “Alright.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You like it when attack-dog-trope characters get all domestic with their would-be handlers? Me too.
> 
> Next update in a couple days. Enjoy Thorn and the allegiance quest, everyone!


	3. Chapter 3

The day after started like every other, except for the fact that Shin woke up with knotted muscles in his back from the shitty pallet on the floor, or maybe it was from last night’s activities. He also woke up next to Wu Ming, which was not so much a surprise as it was an excuse to climb over him and initiate some lazy morning action.

Satisfied afterwards, Shin tucked his face against Wu Ming’s shoulder while Wu Ming stroked an explorative hand through his hair.

“Just us runnin’ the bar now,” Wu Ming said, slurred with sleep and sex. Shin made a noise to show he was listening. “The one guy I had workin’ before, sent him off while you were...gone.”

A careful choice of words. Shin could appreciate it. “That’s fine.” He nosed at Wu Ming’s neck. “I’m gonna head up to my ship. Gotta clean up.”

“Yeah. Take your time, you got a while before people start fillin’ up the place, y’know.” Wu Ming ruffled his hair before pushing himself up, then muttered under his breath, “Let’s hope the ice ain’t frozen the pipes.”

Shin came back early anyway, long before he was meant to be working. Wu Ming greeted him with a smile and a wink, sliding a cup of coffee and a plate of breakfast up to him.

It was nice.

 

The quiet start to the day continued into the night – no Warlords, precious few Risen, and mostly Lightless folk. The snowfall had been light, which meant that more people could make the trek to the bar. It also meant that Shin’s job was very, very uneventful, but Wu Ming’s was not.

Shin kept himself entertained as the hours grew longer. By the time things slowed, he’d begun considering his next move from here, what he would do to stay busy once Wu Ming was no longer an option. Part of him felt the ache at the thought; another part of him embraced the loss – two sides of a very lonely war.

When his body caught up with his mind’s restlessness, Shin found himself toying with an empty bullet casing he kept around, turning it this way and that. It was rare now to see actual bullet casings. He liked the feel of it between his fingers, liked having something to keep himself occupied while The End of the World emptied out. The only person left was passed out at the counter. Wu Ming had already wiped up his drool twice.

“Hey, cowboy,” said Wu Ming, walking over.

_Speak of the devil._ Shin glanced up at him, expectant.

“You brooding over something?” Wu Ming asked, pausing in front of him. His eyes flicked down to the bullet casing and back up to Shin’s face.

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve been watchin’ you stare into space for an hour.” Wu Ming leaned forward, tapped Shin in the center of the forehead once. “What’s goin’ on?”

Shin checked the time. Usually if the bar was quiet for this long, he’d be chatting with Wu Ming. He’d broken their routine.

“I need to worry about you doin’ your job?” Wu Ming pressed.

Shin thought it sounded more like he was asking if he was okay. He said, “I’m fine. Just thinking.” Then, cocking his head at him, he asked, “You really think I wasn’t payin’ attention?”

The corners of Wu Ming’s mouth raised a little. “Got me there.”

Shin pinched the bullet casing, ducking his head as he smiled a tiny smile at it. Wu Ming stayed there in front of him a moment, then plucked the casing away from him. Shin watched, surprised, as the casing disappeared between Wu Ming’s fingers.

Wu Ming grinned, then procured the casing from nowhere, holding it out on his open palm. Shin reached for it only to be denied, Wu Ming slipping the little casing away from his grasp with another sleight of hand. He flipped his hands this way and that to show that he wasn’t holding it.

Amused, Shin asked, “What?”

“You believe in magic, brother?” Wu Ming sounded a little mocking, but not at Shin. At the world, maybe.

“No,” Shin said, equally wry.

“Ha, then what’s this behind your ear?” Wu Ming leaned closer, making a grab at the air behind the side of Shin’s head. Shin glanced over to watch for the casing, but Wu Ming’s lips met his.

He closed his eyes, straightening up to extend the kiss as long as he was possibly able, Wu Ming’s laughter against his mouth just egging Shin on, encouraging him to deepen the kiss, heat it up a little. He nipped at his lip, got his hand at the nape of Wu Ming’s neck, scratched lightly at the little hairs there, felt him shiver – then Wu Ming scrambled back.

Wu Ming stood an arms’ reach away from Shin, flushed in the face, his pupils a little too dark. “Tempting,” he eventually said, a little curl to the word.

Shin smiled. When Wu Ming threw the bullet casing back to him, he caught it.

“You’re good with your hands,” Shin commented innocently, pocketing the casing.

Wu Ming sent an approving look over his shoulder as he walked back behind the counter. “Closing time,” he reminded him, sly.

Shin checked the clock, then stood up to go dismiss their last guest.

 

Wu Ming breathed _Orsa, Orsa_ into his ear until Shin was on fire. Even though it was the wrong name, it felt right.

 

“You ever gonna tell me?”

Shin had thought about it already. “Maybe.”

“Take your time, I get it,” Wu Ming murmured, mouthing at Shin’s neck as he pulled him closer for a second round. “I’m not goin’ nowhere.”

 

Efrideet nearly broke his hand when she clasped it tight in greeting the next time she visited the bar.

“You’re still here,” she said.

“Should I not be?” Shin asked, unable to help his grin.

“Well,” she started thoughtfully, and that was all.

As it turned out, Efrideet was planning on traveling soon, and she wanted to ensure everything was going well down here with the uncannily capable mortal’s bar. Felwinter didn’t have the time. The rest of the Iron Lords were preoccupied with the City, and the reopening of the Crucible.

Shin hadn’t thought of the Crucible in a while. Yor made his name there. He kept the distaste from his face.

“If we ever face down against one another,” Efrideet was saying, “expect no mercy, Orsa.”

“I would be offended otherwise.”

“Excellent!” Efrideet sobered then, leaning towards him a bit. “Speaking of the Crucible, actually...I have to ask. Iron Lord duties, and all. You heard anything about Dredgen Yor?”

Shin blinked. Kept his heart still. “He’s dead.”

“Which was plenty reason to celebrate,” Efrideet said confidently, gesturing in little choppy motions as she spoke – “But apparently a couple people have been asking the Vanguard, well. Questions.”

“Questions…”

Efrideet lowered her voice to a whisper. “Dangerous questions. Word is they want to follow his footsteps.”

Over Efrideet’s shoulder, Wu Ming was standing behind the bar. His head tilted slightly closer to them.

Shin turned back to her. “You think the one who took down Yor’ll go after ‘em, too?” he asked, leaning his elbow against the counter in a guise of nonchalance.

“That’s what we’re all wondering.” Efrideet knocked the rest of her drink back, then sighed. “I don’t bring it up to worry you, just to remind you to keep an eye out.” She raised an arm to the bar and the people within for a moment. “But you have a potential rumor mill here. And more importantly...you have a charge, don’t you?”

Shin looked at Wu Ming again and caught him looking back. “Guess so.”

He bid Efrideet farewell, promising to let her know if he heard anything about the shadows sniffing out Yor’s path. Wu Ming was patient enough to wait a few minutes before he wandered over to Shin.

“What was that all about?” he asked, perfectly relaxed.

“Trouble,” Shin said.

“Of a sort,” Wu Ming agreed. “Your poker face needs work.”

Shin smiled, but it fell from his face. “I may...need to go.”

Wu Ming studied the wood grain in the floor. As Shin chewed over taking those words back, Wu Ming perked up again. He leaned himself over the counter and got eye-to-eye with Shin, their noses almost touching.

“Stay mine one more night,” Wu Ming said.

No one could be blamed for seeking solace in another person.

 

That night, Wu Ming dug fingers into Shin’s hips as he fucked into him, his head resting against Shin’s collar, begging, dragged-out, desperate, “ _Orsa_ –”

Shin took his face in his hands and kissed him until their breaths were one and the same.

“My name’s not Orsa,” he gasped into Wu Ming’s mouth, choking down another sound.

Wu Ming pressed grinning teeth against his lips. “I know.”

 

That morning, Shin didn’t get up for a while.

He looked up at the light that always flickered when they fucked, he looked at the pallet strewn out around them, he looked at Wu Ming, already awake and waiting.

“You gonna hunt ‘em down?” Wu Ming asked.

“In a way.”

“You the one who took out Yor?”

“Yeah.”

Wu Ming took a deep breath and blew it all out in a curse. “Alright,” he said, strained suddenly. He rubbed his hands over his face, his shaking hands, and Shin didn’t know how to stop himself from reaching out to take one of them. Shin held on until the shaking turned to trembling and the trembling stalled out.

Wu Ming gave a nervous, nervous laugh.

Shin thought, _hell, might as well now_. “My name’s Shin,” he said, the pain of a soon-coming loss almost turning him inside-out. “Shin Malphur.”

“I didn’t mind Orsa,” Wu Ming admitted, quiet.

“I –” Shin paused. “I didn’t either.”

They both fell silent.

Shin slowly dropped Wu Ming’s hand. Wu Ming let him, then shook his head.

“You’re a big fuckin’ deal, you know,” he told Shin.

“So I hear.”

“You weren’t kiddin’ about Dryden bein’ a non-issue.”

Shin shrugged.

Wu Ming shook his head again, this time more fiercely. “Fuck. _Fuck!_ ”

Shin agreed with a tiny hum, but then Wu Ming was sitting up, shoving fingers through his hair, pulling at it, turning it into a wild mess. And he said, “ _fuck_ ,” again, this time with a gentleness Shin nearly shied away from.

Wu Ming looked him in the eye. “I don’t wanna be stuck with this bar without somebody watching my back.”

Uncertain and slow and scared to hope even a little bit, Shin pushed himself up onto his elbows and began, “I’m sure there’s somebody else –”

Wu Ming slapped a hand over Shin’s mouth. “Stop it,” he snapped. “Let me – I gotta…fuck.”

Shin couldn’t’ve talked even if he wanted to.

“I told you.” Wu Ming took another very deep breath. “I wasn’t planning on keepin’ this place.”

Shin thought, _Oh_.

 

They packed up only the necessities. Shin unlocked the transmat request, waiting for Wu Ming to appear on his ship.

When he did, he was holding the best, biggest bottle of alcohol he’d had in The End of the World.

“My name’s not Wu Ming, either,” he said as he popped it open.

Shin considered that while he entered the coordinates to their destination.

“Alright,” he said. “I can live with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Parisa, for bestowing upon me the best sleight-of-smooch in existence.


	4. Chapter 4

Shin transmatted back up to his ship. Wu Ming hadn’t volunteered to join him in his trek to the Tower and Shin hadn’t pushed to convince him to tag along. Shin had left him naked in bed, but Wu Ming had migrated – clothed now in a thin shirt and loose pants – to the sparse kitchen by the time Shin returned.

Seeing the pile Wu Ming had made with Shin’s small collection of kitchenware brought Shin up short. By the looks of it, he’d walked in on Wu Ming scrounging up something that resembled breakfast.

Shin was fairly certain this was the first time his kitchen had ever been used for anything.

“Tell me you brought back _somethin’_ I can work with,” Wu Ming started to say, straightening up from his examination of the empty fridge, and then he saw Shin’s face. “What? Lemme guess, didn’t go well?”

“This... _Vanguard_ ,” Shin started, shaking off the twinge of domesticity. “I don’t think they know what they’re doing.”

“Yeah, well.” Wu Ming shrugged, then picked up a mug from the counter and sipped at it. “You know what happens when Lightbearers get together and pretend they got a moral compass not worth sneezin’ at.”  

Shin sighed, thinking through contacts, networks, anything he had to get a leg up on information. Word of his deed alone would get him just about anywhere, save for the trio keeping the Tower’s aid from him.

He could seek out the Cryptarchs. He could track down Lady Efrideet again, get in good with Lord Felwinter, find his way further than even that...

“Hey,” Wu Ming said, approaching. He bumped his shoulder into Shin’s. The contact alone scattered Shin’s thoughts out of reach. “Why’re you tryin’ for their help anyway? Don’t seem to me like they’re in any rush to stick their necks out for you.”

“I thought, _naively_ , that they’d be interested in knowing what’s going on within their jurisdiction,” Shin said. He leaned into Wu Ming’s side.

“Maybe it ain’t,” Wu Ming mumbled into his mug.

Shin turned his head to look at him. “What?”

Wu Ming glanced away, suddenly skittish. “Maybe it ain’t their jurisdiction.”

“Maybe it’s mine.”

Wu Ming raised his mug as if toasting to the idea.

 

They fell into bed again and again with one another. Shin was ruined and ruinous, and Wu Ming’s heat against his body was a salve for that which couldn’t be healed. The more that Wu Ming picked and plucked at Shin’s heart, the more cracks Shin found himself noticing in Wu Ming’s ribs, acting as a cage that kept him just out of reach.

He would’ve asked again, _Why are you still pretending?_ if it would’ve made any difference. He would have asked over and over, but Wu Ming was still a liar and Shin was still someone to lie to.

It didn’t matter. Wu Ming was warm, and Shin was aching.

 

“What will you do?” Jaren’s Ghost asked him one day.

Shin stared down the scope of his sniper. He picked off one Dreg, then a second.

“They’re nothing more than mere shadows of what he was,” Shin said. He adjusted his position, aimed, fired again, and that made three. “ _Who_ he was.”

“He was a monster.”

“He was a man.” Shin pulled the trigger, the shot echoing off the abandoned buildings and punctuating his words. “And to say he was anything other would do us all a disservice.”

Jaren’s Ghost was quiet as Shin reloaded the rifle. Then, little pieces of geometry adjusting to some new curiosity, it said, “You’re angry.”

“You aren’t?” Shin raised the scope up again and watched chaos unfold in the Fallen camp.

“Not like you.”

Shin hesitated.

His next shot took down the Captain.

 

Lord Shaxx was a tall, imposing man. The concepts of classes and lines drawn in the sand made him a Titan. Shin thought that was fitting. They got along well from the start, Shaxx willing to hear Shin out and Shin overwhelmed by need to be heard.

“You’ll want to know about Teben Grey and his friends,” Shaxx said, before Shin ever had to ask.

“Please.”

Shaxx told him what he knew. It was a small group, no more than three or four, who really seemed to have taken to Teben’s ideas. They didn’t seem to be out for blood, he said, but Shin reminded him that Yor hadn’t been from the start either . Teben was skirting a dangerous boundary with his opinions. While people had not flocked to him, that he was attracting attention in the first place was…   
  
“Precarious,” Shaxx said, voice darkening.

“Where are they?” Shin said.

Shaxx examined him. “What do you intend on doing, Hunter?”

“What needs to be done.”

Shaxx was quiet, pinching the chin of his helmet between forefinger and thumb. Shin stood, patient.

“You ended a nightmare once,” Shaxx finally said. He dropped a heavy hand on Shin’s shoulder and squeezed, a silent plea. “I ask that you keep another from beginning. I want my Crucible safe for those fighting in it.”

Shin nodded, his own hand ready where it sat on his holster. Shaxx gave him a list of coordinates. Jaren’s Ghost stored them all.

“Thank you,” Shin said sincerely.

As he walked away, Shaxx called, “Take care, Hunter.”

It was a vicious temptation to chase the lead the second he got hold of it, but Shin found himself making a quick stop first. He was restless and hungry for pursuit, and yet he didn’t think twice about transmatting up to to his ship.

He found Wu Ming in the kitchen again, this time chopping up ingredients, a hot pot full of soupy broth on the counter. He hadn’t had all of this in his kitchen earlier today, he knew that much. Something warm and pleased set in under his skin, loosening the tension that had his muscles ready to _go_.

Shin poked his head over the hot pot to sniff at the broth – spice, with a touch of something sweeter. “You’re cooking?”

“Got tired of ripping wires out of your ship’s console,” explained Wu Ming. “Most of ‘em you don’t even need. Most, anyway. Hey, lemme borrow your knife.”

Shin handed it to him, the blade pinched between his fingers. Wu Ming took the handle and looked it over, satisfied.

“Kitchen knives can’t hold a candle to this when you’re cutting chunks outta meat,” he said appreciatively. Then, to Shin, he asked, “You gonna be around? Almost done.”

“Yeah. I’ll stay for dinner.”

Wu Ming grinned, the knife effortless in every cut.

 

In the Cosmodrome’s night, Shin hunted.

A track here. Leftover Light with a touch of something _more_ buzzing there – his Ghost picked up the scent. He’d checked two other spots that Shaxx had given him already, with no luck. There was promise in this third location, hidden deep in the Cosmodrome’s rolling hills and shattered cliffs.

Shin followed the trail of leaking Light-plus-some to a path that branched off the main route most would have taken. A glance from the left and to the right, and he started down it.

He had circled around the very fringes of the issue for long enough. It was time for a reckoning.

When he found Teben at the end of the path, there was no hint of an ongoing Hive ritual. There was no corruption crawling up his skin or claiming his eyes. No shadows dragged nails down Shin’s spine or clutched at his throat.

It was only Teben and a small fire emitting a flickering light in the middle of the camp.

Shin stepped out from the dark.

“Oh!” Teben said, startling. He wrenched his journal, originally in his lap, up to his chest protectively.

“Are you Teben Grey?”

“Yes,” Teben said, standing up to face him. “I thought all patrols were being completed by full fireteams until next week.”

Something was wrong, Shin thought, for this man to be lusting after Yor’s legacy with nothing to show for it. “I’m not patrolling. I was looking for you.”

Teben suddenly looked far more nervous. “For what purpose?”

“...I heard rumors,” Shin said, his hand on his belt. He did not draw.

Teben glanced down at his journal, then up again at Shin. “Rumors or…whispers?”

It was a strange enough question that it brought Shin up short. His brows came together in a furrow, his bafflement hidden by the visor he wore. “You’re playing with fire. Lookin’ that deep into the same abyss Yor fell into. Doing what you’re doing –”

“And what is it that I am doing?” Teben demanded, shaking out his journal at Shin.

“You tell me.”

“Learning, archiving, understanding! Everyone turns their face from the terrible, dangerous reality – Dredgen Yor was a _man_. We are all but _men_.”

Shin took a sharp breath. His hand slipped away from his holster.

“I’ve committed no wrongs,” Teben insisted. “Search my camp if you must. I’ve done nothing to merit stopping the knowledge that I strive for.”

“Yet,” Shin said darkly, but it felt like a swing and a miss.

“And should I misstep, I welcome the Light’s vengeance,” Teben said, sharp. “If I must be a necessary sacrifice to the greater good, so be it.”

It sounded nothing like Yor’s philosophy, and Teben did not stand as if he stepped over corpses to get where he was. Shin was staring down a puzzle that he couldn’t figure out, missing a piece – or many pieces. He could see the logic behind _understanding_. He could see the reason behind _learning_. He remembered the shot that had killed Yor, and he remembered the silent acceptance, the welcoming embrace, that Yor had given that fiery bullet.

“You think you can walk the edge of the abyss that Dredgen Yor fell into?” Shin asked, hollow.

Teben looked him over slowly, then with feeling, said, “You’re considering?”

Shin saw a choice, balanced on the head of a pin.

“I agree with you,” Shin confessed, the vice pulled taut around his heart digging in its teeth. “What is it you’ve learned?”

Teben seemed shocked, but it gave way fast beneath the weight of knowing a companion. “Here, let me show you…”

“Orsa,” Shin said. “Zyre Orsa.”

“Orsa,” repeated Teben. He opened his notebook, waving Shin closer. “We should only fear what is unknown. If we know Yor, we no longer fear the threat of him. Join me by the fire. Let’s talk.”

They spoke until just before the sun rose over the uneven horizon.

As the light started to fall over the Cosmodrome, they agreed to meet again.

 

“You wanna _be_ one of ‘em?” Wu Ming asked, unable to mask his surprise. “What happened to hunting ‘em?”

“The hope is they’re more careful than their inspiration,” Shin told him. He’d rehearsed this talk a hundred times on the way back. “I want to keep an eye on things. I’m not convinced that anyone will ever reach the depths that he did.”

Wu Ming stared at him a long while, nibbling at his lip thoughtfully. “You’re gonna end up a wanted man for this,” he said.

He’d thought of that already. Smiling somewhat wryly, Shin said, “It won’t be Shin Malphur commiserating with them.”

Wu Ming grinned real slow. “ _Orsa._ You’re a devious bastard, anyone ever tell you that?”

“You’d be the first.”

“I won’t be the last,” Wu Ming said, dropping down to sit on Shin’s bed with a little shimmy. “Tell me more about the, what, Shadows of Yor? That’s what he’s calling ‘em?”

“That’s what Teben said.” Shin followed after him, unable to help himself.

Wu Ming hummed, putting arms around Shin, pulling him between his knees. “Alright. When are we goin’ along with him?”

Shin paused halfway to climbing into his lap. “‘We’?”

“Yeah, we.” Wu Ming peeked up at him from where he had his cheek pressed into Shin’s abdomen. “What? You kickin’ me out?”

“No,” Shin said, too fast. Wu Ming flashed his all-teeth smile and started peeling Shin’s armor off for him. “Why the interest all of a sudden?”

“Killer, I’ve _been_ interested,” Wu Ming said against his wrist, tossing Shin’s gauntlets into parts unknown. “Gotta say, the Light doesn’t appeal all on its own. What are Risen, really? Doin’ some deeds that big fuckin’ ball tells us to?” He scoffed, pulling Shin down to his level, then murmured by his lips, “Don’t know about you, but the Traveler ain’t ever told me nothing.”

Shin rolled that idea around in his mind while Wu Ming took his holster from him and laid it down softly. He thought about the likelihood of being hated. He thought of the people who would flock. He thought of the day that Light couldn’t be enough to snuff out Darkness that ran that deep. He thought of men, not of monsters.

He thought of Yor’s contentment even up to his last moments, he thought of Jaren’s end, he thought of the anger in his chest and the gift bestowed to him, resting in that holster on the floor.

Shin’s fingers stung with heat.

“You’re a million miles away,” Wu Ming murmured to the crook of his neck, pressing him into the bed.

“I think you’re onto something,” Shin told him. He turned his head to look him in the eyes. “If the best the Light has ever seen could fall to corruption, what hope does anyone else have?”

“Never been much for hope,” Wu Ming replied, not quite looking back.

Shin didn’t tell him that hope was all that kept his fire burning for so many years. “We have to seek an understanding with the dark to have even the slightest chance at finding the light.”

Wu Ming made a sound of uncertainty. “Think just understanding is what the guy’s after?”

“If it’s not, I’ll turn him to ash where he stands.”

Shin rolled over, hooked a leg around Wu Ming and settled on his thighs. Wu Ming got hands on his hips, finally meeting his gaze. Something behind his expression spoke of conflict, but he parted his lips under Shin’s when they kissed and he let Shin undress him, let Shin take him to pieces and pry him apart with the passion of a lover desperate for it.

In Shin’s ear, desperate and hitching for breath, Wu Ming breathed, “ _Shin_.”

And though Shin shivered all the way down his spine at the sound of his name like that, he still corrected him: “Orsa, now.”

Wu Ming laughed a short, uneven laugh before he pulled Shin back into him. “Then call me Eli.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, did you want plot? Me neither, but my hands typed plot. I'll make up for it with LOTS of kisses next chapter.
> 
> Last chapter may take a bit longer this time around, 1) because I have a hundred drafts, 2) so much lore has been happening that I feel a bit overwhelmed, and 3) because I need to rest my poor, few brain cells. :D


	5. Chapter 5

Orsa woke up tired.

He looked to his side, where Eli still slept against his bare shoulder. Then he looked up at the ceiling and considered whether it was a hole or a grave he was digging for himself.

They were set to leave for the Cosmodrome today. Teben expected them to meet in a forgotten corner of the Mothyards, past emptied-out planes and closer to an array. Hive had taken up a dreadful residence nearby; it was good a place as any to start their pilgrimage, Teben had said. Orsa had no way to tell him how off the mark he was without giving himself away.

Eli stirred and Orsa tightened his hold around him. When Eli blinked his eyes open, he hummed, glancing sleepily over Orsa’s body only half-hidden under the sheets.

“Mornin’,” Eli said contentedly, then added, “Wanna go again?”

Funny, what sort of routine they’d fallen into. Waking up together, going to bed together, handling the errands and responsibilities of the day together. Orsa had more experience with domesticity than someone like Eli, who wore his lies for longer and with more ease than Orsa did. But Orsa would learn; he’d need to, now.

Orsa pushed the covers off enough to hitch his leg over Eli’s lap, impatient for the warm hands that found his back as he settled himself on top of him. Eli laughed breathlessly, recklessly while Orsa bit kisses down his neck. Orsa could’ve taken it slower, could’ve played up something tender, but his mind was heavy with the weight of a thousand thoughts and Eli was more than happy to indulge him in some distraction, if the way he put his mouth to Orsa’s ear and whispered, “Easy,” was any indication.

Eli dragged Orsa’s hips down against him and Orsa nipped his lip hard between his teeth. Eli huffed out a sharp sound, fingers digging harder into his waist, then kissed him until Orsa’s head was spinning, and his sounds were muffled against Eli’s smiling mouth.

“Gettin’ ahead of yourself,” Eli told him lightly, _slow down, slow down for me._

“I need –”

“No, you don’t,” Eli laughed again, softer, his eyes dancing. “You just want.”

He reached an arm up to find the oil, lost somewhere between the bed and the nightstand since the night before, while Orsa panted. Once Eli found it, he dropped it onto his chest and nodded up at Orsa.

“Do what you like, killer,” Eli said. “You got somethin’ to work out, work it out on me.”

He looked eager at the prospect, and Orsa couldn’t tell him no when he wasn’t any less wanting. Orsa popped open the oil and slicked up his fingers, easing one into Eli first just to tease, and then, when Eli insisted, he added another.

This, Orsa took his time with. He curled his fingers to feel Eli jolt with sudden feeling, then fucked them into him down to the knuckle, back and forward again, ‘til Eli was rolling his hips with the motions, catching on to Orsa’s rhythm. Orsa forced his breaths slower, all too distracted by the kindling in his stomach that burst hot again with every little noise that escaped Eli’s lips. He looked him over, every inch – he fucked him open, steady, _needing_ –

“Enough,” Eli gasped, and then Orsa was on him, pulling his hand free to grab at the sheets while he leaned low, kissing him with a hunger, with a fever.

Orsa lined them up together and Eli groaned with relief at the first stretch of his cock. He felt Eli dig fingers into his back while he bottomed out, both of them breathing together as they stayed suspended in this single moment together, just for a second. Eli’s chuckle made Orsa shiver, and then Eli patted his hand heavily against the nape of Orsa’s neck, squeezing there.

“Fuck,” Orsa breathed, shuddering.

He moved his hips out and in again, smaller increments growing larger, longer. Eli bit his lip at first, then took to fucked-out little huffs of air, chin tilted high while he hooked his legs around Orsa. Orsa flattened his tongue against Eli’s throat and licked; the answering, trembling swear he got out of it was more than enough of a gift.

Orsa was on fire, inside-out, and Eli was a willing sacrifice to the flames, gripping him tight and making sure he coaxed Orsa _harder, harder_ with grabbing fingers and harsh nails and a brush of lips against Orsa’s sweat-lined forehead, tender in its intimacy.

Yet even the kiss wasn’t enough to stave off the restless need. Orsa dropped his head to rest against Eli’s collarbone as he fucked him, one of Eli’s hands going over his head to brace himself against the wall that Orsa was slowly, surely shoving him towards with every push. Eli grabbed his hip hard and Orsa pressed his mouth at the soft hollow of his throat in turn, felt Eli shake once at it. His skin tasted like salt and warmth. Orsa wondered, deliriously, why there were no marks left behind with how Eli’s hand burned on him.

They couldn’t last like this. Orsa was long gone and Eli wasn’t far off. Eli pulled Orsa’s head down to speak in his ear, whispered, “C’mon, close, _close_ ,” like a promise just for him. And Orsa kept it up until his pace faltered, until he had to take Eli’s cock in his fist himself so he wouldn’t leave him behind.

When Orsa came, it was with the taste of Eli’s moan on his tongue.

 

They were late to the Cosmodrome.

“It’s good to see you again, Orsa,” Teben said upon their arrival. He gave Eli a cursory glance, then a more scrutinizing look. “I didn’t expect another.”

Eli extended a hand, grinning. “Eli, heya. Orsa’s told me plenty about you.”

Teben stared at Eli’s hand, uncomprehending. Orsa bit his tongue.

“Right,” Teben said, then he gestured to the side, where off in the distance a Hive Seeder Ship loomed. “Here we are. Our first point of interest. You’re here for the same purpose as we are, Eli?”

“Sure, I am,” Eli said. He took a few inquisitive steps away, peering up at the top of the Seeder. Teben clearly had to rein himself in from trotting nervously after him. “Big Seeder. That’s the Jovian Complex, right? Think they picked this spot to dig in their heels, or was it just convenience?”

Orsa thought about it while Teben blinked several times.

“It would be a mistake to think anything the Hive do is an accident,” mused Orsa. “In matters of destruction, their intent is...total.”

“Ain’t it just.”

Teben stepped forward, flipping open his journal, quickly cutting in. “Luna would have been ideal as a first location, but as we’re seeking to learn, not replicate, well…” He shrugged. “It was my line of thinking that we start our search in the corruption that lingers here from Hive infestation.”

“Search for what?” Eli asked, something clever in his eyes.

“Yor’s trail,” Teben said, slow.

“We’re startin’ in an miserable spot then, aren’t we?” Eli tipped his head at Orsa, drawing his attention. “There’s gotta be somewhere better than this. It’s a hundred to one that Yor passed through here.” Eli looked at Orsa, raising his brows. “What do _you_ think, Orsa?”

Orsa fought the urge to smile. “All due respect, Teben, but he’s right. We’re way off.”

“How so?” Teben asked dryly.

“We know of more recent locations that Yor turned up.”

“Yeah,” Eli said, “Like Palamon.”

Teben looked at Eli. It was a stroke of luck. Orsa’s little flinch was all too visible for his own liking.

While the two of them spoke of razed, forgotten towns, Orsa looked at the faraway Seeder. From this distance, they were too far to attract the attention of any Hive, but he felt as if that dark and heavy ship knew of their pursuit and mocked them for it.

“Orsa.”

He hesitated, then turned to Eli. “Yeah.”

Eli stared at him for a long moment, long enough that Orsa’s skin prickled, but then he smiled slightly. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know which direction we need to head?”

Orsa did. While his ship guided them to Palamon’s remains, Orsa pored over Teben’s writings, and Teben mentioned, every so often, that he had not heard of Palamon, not once. Eli refilled Orsa’s coffee each time.

 

“There’s nothing here,” Teben said, surprised.

Orsa stepped forward, looking across the empty land. There were tracks here once, paths and flattened dirt roads. There had been houses – what they’d wanted to call houses – littering the area. Now, nature had reclaimed much of it.

If he blinked, he could see ash fall in front of his eyes.

“Yor wiped it off the map,” Orsa said, staring out over the land he’d once called home. “From here he traveled…” He turned to the right, glancing up at the sky to quickly decipher the direction. Then, he gestured off into the distance, where he’d once followed Jaren. That was the last time he’d ever seen Palamon and he hadn’t looked back, least of all because it wasn’t much to look at by the time he’d left.

Teben scribbled some quick notes down, then eyed Orsa. “What’s your source?”

“This was where my Ghost found me. We followed the trail long as we could.”

The answer seemed to satisfy Teben, who quickly sketched their location in his journal. Eli gave Orsa a sidelong glance.

While Teben took stock of the land, Orsa volunteered to walk the perimeter further out to ensure they didn’t have any nasty surprises waiting on them when dark fell. Eli elected to join him, and Teben had no argument to give.

They ventured out, Orsa wielding an early model Duke cannon and Eli with a scout rifle slung over his back.

“Where’d you get that?” Orsa asked him as they walked, noting the slim model and iron sights. “Doesn’t look like anything the Tower’s got.”

“Made it,” Eli said. If Orsa wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of pride in his voice. “Unique sonuvabitch, huh? I dig the classic look.”

“How’s it shoot?”

“Good.” Eli paused. “Probably.”

They walked further out together, sticking to places where the grass wasn’t so overgrown and they had a decent view of their surroundings. It was beautiful out here, mountains in the distance and trees dotting the landscape. Orsa longed for an impossibly better end for this place.

Eli nudged him in the side. “Spacey,” he remarked.

“It’s been awhile since I was last here,” Orsa said.

“You told me this was your home once.” Eli stooped, picking a long, sturdy piece of brome grass and peering at it. His gaze flicked up to Orsa. “Not that you woke up here. You die when Yor took the place out or somethin’?”

Orsa didn’t say anything.

Eli stuck the grass between his teeth as he straightened up. “Not that you gotta tell me or nothin’. Figured it was worth asking, is all.”

“I –” Orsa frowned. “I didn’t die.”

“‘Cause of Yor?”

“No. At all.”

“You’ve never been rezzed –?”

“I didn’t die to become Risen,” Orsa interrupted. “My Ghost – it’s Jaren’s.”

Eli stared at him, his jaw hanging half-open. Orsa was surprised the grass stayed in his mouth.

“Who the fuck is Jaren?” Eli demanded suddenly.

“What?” Orsa asked, stunned.

“He an ex or somethin’ –” Eli stopped at Orsa’s aghast noise. “Never mind. Back it up, you’re tellin’ me you never _died?_ You didn’t go from corpse to ‘Traveler’s chosen’?”

His tone made it clear exactly what he thought of the Traveler _and_ it’s chosen.

Orsa shook his head.

“Lucky you. Your Ghost ain’t even your own Ghost?”

Another head shake.

“Shit,” said Eli, but through the shock he seemed curious, looking Orsa over with new eyes. “You’re some kinda freak, y’know?”

Orsa didn’t take offense at the backhanded compliment, only holstering his gun with a huff, somewhere between ridiculous amusement and real exasperation. Eli came up behind him, sliding an arm around his back to tug him close.

His lips brushing Orsa’s ear, Eli murmured, “Got any other juicy secrets for me?”

“...Ask me later.”

Eli paused against him. “How much later are we talking?”

“Teben’s waiting for us to come back,” Orsa said, but Eli was turning him around, pushing him off the path. Orsa went with it, stepping backwards, expectant. He plucked the grass from Eli’s mouth and flicked it away.

“You don’t really think I give a damn,” Eli said, his teeth sharp in a smile. “Teben can wait.”

With grass crushed beneath the weight of their bodies and the sun sinking lower and lower in the sky, Orsa muffled his moans against Eli’s throat.

 

The road to understanding was a long one.

As they gathered up evidence, Teben started taking Orsa at his word. Everywhere they went, Orsa was able to provide some sort of reason: Yor was in that place, Yor did this, Yor committed another wrong here. Teben catalogued the journey and Eli filled in gaps of knowledge that Orsa hadn’t known existed – about Warlords, about Hive, about Light versus Light, and where Darkness seeped in.

Dwindler’s Ridge was their last stop. Their pilgrimage had lasted months now. Orsa had put this off. While Teben was none the wiser, Eli knew better.

They arrived with no fanfare. Dwindler’s Ridge was off the grid, written away from every map. There was nothing remarkable about this place, save for the history that had been made in a moment. Orsa didn’t know what he’d expected. Not uncomfortable stillness. Not for the world to keep turning when he still felt something anchoring him here.

“Ship above us,” Eli commented.

Orsa and Teben looked at him. The smallest hint of a flicker in the air next to Eli gave away a disappearing Ghost. He pointed upwards.

“There’s a ship,” Eli repeated. He rested a hand over the cannon tucked into his belt. Orsa did a double take at it, recognizing his Duke. “Who else is here?”

“No one,” Orsa said, sure of it. Then he stopped.

Eli’s brows raised.

Teben already had one of his many instruments out, gauging electricity and activity in the area. He announced, “It’s an older ship, much older. Malfunctioning, I believe –”

He flinched, putting the instrument further from his head as it gave a low, long noise. He glanced at Orsa, then at Eli, disconcerted. “The engine?” Teben guessed, uncertain.

“Get the nav-drive coordinates,” Orsa said, already striding past them to get within transmat distance of his own ship. “We’re going up.”

The ship Eli had found was in low-orbit, out of sight and once, long out of mind. But with its rediscovery came another revelation: Even forgotten bones could whisper chattering desires.

As they stepped foot on the craft, the transmat left unlocked, Orsa felt distinctly as if it had been waiting – not for Yor’s return, as Teben insisted, as that would never come. No. Orsa felt the ship, or the corpse of it, hungered for another’s bootprint.

Yor’s ship was a husk of dead things and buried deaths. The sound was haunting on its own. Though the ship creaked and its mechanisms wailed with disuse, it was the longing whine that dragged unease down Orsa’s spine. Yet he wasn’t worried, despite the twist in his stomach. His vested interest settled him, pushed him to step further into the bridge. The sharp, dark bones formed a welcoming arch around him as he picked his way forward.

Between the jutting, decrepit architecture where a pilot would have sat once, a thick leather book rested. Orsa picked it up, dusting shards of brittle matter from the cover.

“You hear that?” Eli asked him, hushed, as if afraid to be overheard.

Orsa glanced at him. Eli had been anxiously curious before; now, he looked only skittish. “Hear what?”

Later, he wouldn't be able to say whether he should’ve remained silent or not. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference.

The whispers sang until their ears bled.

 

The sun fell over the Ridge, golden light fading from view. Above, a whispering ship of bone still craved their presence. Here, with his feet on the ground, nothing but white noise remained in the recess of Orsa’s thoughts.

Teben was uncharacteristically quiet, which was perfectly fine with Orsa. Eli had excused himself to empty his stomach somewhere nearby. For all the silence that surrounded them and all the words that had painted the inside of their shuddering skulls, Orsa felt some peace. He was content to be still for the moment, to be still and to consider.

What they chased was real. What remained of Yor was this – murmuring bones, hated musings, and unwilling understandings.

Yor’s end had become a beginning.

When the night deepened, Orsa set out to find Eli. He crested a hill and walked through the nearby field until he nearly stumbled over him, eclipsed by the tall stalks of grass.

“Where’s your robe?” Orsa asked him, his voice soft.

“Had blood on it,” Eli said, scratching the side of his neck. Dark, dried flecks of blood fell off from his nails, making his point.

Orsa sat beside him, their knees nearly touching. When he looked at Eli’s hands, he saw them shaking.

Eli caught him looking and folded his fingers into his palms, into fists.

“What did they say to you?” Orsa asked.

“You first.”

The whispers had cut into him words of aching loneliness, of goodbye, of sorrow and no second chances. A knife, in the shape of [farewell].

“Vale,” Orsa said, looking forward.

Eli ran his tongue over his teeth, sucked at his cheek, and said nothing.

Orsa glanced to him. A little dryly, he admitted, “Teben heard bane.”

Eli snorted then, meeting his gaze. “Bane of my existence, maybe.”

Orsa smiled, but he still wanted to know – “Well?”

Curiosity would eat him alive for the way that Eli’s face shadowed over. Orsa waited patiently all the same, said nothing until Eli finally confessed, staring at his hands in his lap, “Mostly, just heard a lot about hope.”  

“Somebody once told me they weren’t much for that.”

Eli grunted and fell back to silence.

They spent the night in the dark together, beneath the moon and the flickering stars, beneath that infernal ship of bone and nightmare. Orsa cleaned the blood from Eli’s skin and kissed the grimace from his mouth. The only whispers between them were whispers spoken against each other’s lips, as hands got greedy and bodies grew hungry for heat and touch.

Orsa teased away the fear and anger with his tongue, and Eli’s hand gripping his hair stole away any thoughts of goodbyes.

 

The sheets were tangled. The room was quiet. In the space next to Vale, the bed had grown cold.

“Mornin’,” Hope said cheerfully, returning to the room.

The smell of coffee woke Vale up properly. He rolled over to take the mug offered to him, blinking sleep from his eyes. “Time?” he asked after the first, hot sip.

“Early,” Hope told him, sitting on the edge of the bed, idly dragging fingers over Vale’s hair. “Thought you’d be interested, got word that there’s a rowdy bunch formin’ up at some camp out by the City wall.”

Vale sat up on his elbows completely. “Rowdy like...?”

“They’re not playin’ for fun, can tell you that much.”

“Hm.”

While Hope settled in at the worktable he’d dragged into Vale’s room, Vale got up and changed into light armor befitting the wilds. He chose a long, clean cloak instead of the tattered, black one that usually took the first spot in his inventory.

As he passed by, he snuck a kiss against Hope’s cheek.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hope huffed, dismissing him with rapid hand-waving. “Go on, killer. Do your worst.”

The Man with the Golden Gun left his empty mug in the sink before he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! This whole endeavor ended up being somewhere between AU and canon-compliant like so many of my other fics, but I enjoy the canon reality of Destiny far too much to stray terribly.
> 
> A few final words for this labor of love...
> 
> \- Deep, profound thank you to Agent_24, who stuck by me even as I went crazy reading the Book of Unmaking and For Every Rose a hundred times.  
> \- If you haven't read Tanyart's FANTASTIC PWP piece based in this universe, https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125939 - please do.  
> \- A considerably loud shoutout to all of the people who have taken the time to comment/kudos this little work. I appreciate you all so, so much. It means a lot that what I enjoy can be enjoyed by others.  
> \- ...And maybe I'll revisit this 'verse one day...for PWP. :D
> 
> I already miss this fic. Take care of it, internet. <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [under the bar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125939) by [tanyart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart)




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